


Heat

by kingfisherBlues



Series: Words Escape You [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, And everyone lives in the same town., Attraction is stressful.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingfisherBlues/pseuds/kingfisherBlues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The body is a compilation of electrical impulses and chemical processes.  In milliseconds, signals flash and fade, pupils dilate, blood rushes, lungs empty, and a human mind scrambles to accept what the body already knows.</p><p>Attraction happens fast.  And it's not always understood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Brief Note: I am unsure of how common the practice is, but in my region, elementary and middle schools hold Field Days at the end of the school year. This is when afternoon classes are canceled in favor of running around outside and playing Tug-o-War or something like that. Kids are supposed to be chastised for sitting out on certain activities, but let's be honest. Like the teachers are going to get after eighth graders anyway.

Breathe deep.

It's a simple enough command to give oneself, but when one starts thinking about the processes of breathing, the lungs struggle to take in air and muscles constrict in panic. He couldn't feel his chest in the first place -- everything inside had seemed to disappear like a needed pencil in a book bag -- and he was reduced to shallow gasps that hissed out of his nose as though he had been punched in the gut.

He looked up at the sky, open and blue, and gulped down air as noiselessly as possible. The void that had once been his lungs inflated gratefully before settling down to the busy process of tearing oxygen from the air and sending it on its merry way through his blood. He took in breath again, once, twice, carefully executing the process he had performed flawlessly for years. He would have drifted away on the breeze were it not for the heaviness in his limbs. They kept him anchored as he tried to force his body to remember what having lungs was like.

The boy to his right shifted, pressing closer against the rock that was his arm, and he looked down, nostrils flaring as he took an involuntary intake of breath. With it came the scent of gross fruity shampoo and a nearly painful spasm of his chest muscles. Something hot pooled in his gut; he sat stock-still and terrified as his best friend sat upright and stretched.

"Shit," the boy muttered, scratching at his strawberry-scented hair. "Nearly dozed off. Must be more tired than I thought."

Breathe deep. The lungs will work eventually.

"Have the girls come back yet? I'm thirsty and Jade took my dollar," the boy yawned, rubbing eyes hidden by sunglasses.

Now his throat was closing up, a lump blocking the words that wanted to come out, nonchalant and desperately uncaring. But the only form of communication he could manage was a rigid shake of his head.

"Damn, Egbert, you look worse than usual. You think we should get out of the sun and hide with the goth kids under the bleachers?"

The comment elicited a laugh -- a small, strained laugh -- and John shook his head again, concentrating everywhere but his friend Dave's face as he fidgeted, leaden legs jumping to his heartbeat's nervous pace.

"No," he squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried again. "No. We said we'd meet them at the top of the bleachers and so we will! Plus, uh, the sun is nice. We don't get to see it enough." He gripped the edge of the metal seat and looked with unseeing eyes at the grass field below. It was covered in groups of kids rotating between Field Day activities; his eyes jumped from one figure to the next sporadically, trying to find something to take his attention off of how his lungs hadn't quite found their way back to his trachea yet.

Dave followed his gaze, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and flashed a small smile. "Sure," he assented, "Except through all the windows and open doors that the teachers got propped open 'for air' and not because the hallways stink of Axe--" and he went on, mumbling, and John did his best not to notice the way Dave's fingers curled around his bicep because he couldn't think about how his hands had curled around each other as Dave fell asleep against John's side because the thought was a creepy one. Friends don't notice things like strawberry-scented hair or a light snore when they fell asleep sitting up, even if half-slumped against another person.

Friends didn't stay there, rigid and void of chest, hair brushing their cheek as they did their best to breathe without drawing in more of that scent of skin and sweat and heat. Friends didn't gently wriggle their hands under their own thighs for fear of touching something they shouldn't, but at the same time unwilling to escape what little contact there was. Friends didn't feel the way that John was feeling -- he couldn't really describe it, other than rocket-volcano-rollarcoaster-death-trap, which made as much sense as striped paint -- because if friends did that, that would be creepy.

His mind tried to ask if the feeling was wrong, but he shouted it down before the thought could surface.

"Earth to Egbert. Earth to Egbert. Stop hitting up the Martians and report in, Egbert."

"Hmm? Oh, sorry, were you saying something?"

"Thanks for making me feel loved," Dave drawled, punching John's leg with a lazy fist, before withdrawing and appearing actually --

John looked at him for a moment, his scattered thoughts coalescing into the epiphany that Dave looked embarrassed.

"Sorry for falling asleep on you, man," Dave flippantly apologized, adjusting his sunglasses on his nose. "You know how sixth hour is my napping time. And this Field Day bullshit just wrecked my schedule so--"

"Oh, yeah. No, don't worry about it," John cut in, his shoulders canting up towards his ears in what an outside observer may call a 'shrug'.

"No big deal?"

"The deal is so small, I'd have to use a microscope to see it."

"Nerd."

"Ass."

Dave shoved John with one hand, both of them rocking outwards at the force, but when they settled, their shoulders made contact and decided to stay. John closed his eyes briefly, that strange heat returning to his gut. He took a steadying breath and looked over at his friend. Dave was sitting with his hands hanging between his knees, the fingers bending their partners, knuckles cracking, and he sat with such an intense look of concentration that John found himself with another indescribable feeling. This time it was more death-trap-rushing-river, with just a hint of pure terror. He wanted to run away. He wanted to stay right there. He wanted his body to stop screaming, and his mind to shut the hell up, but both were insisting that he and Dave were right there, right next to each other, and if they just turned their heads, they could --

His thoughts skittered to a stop, but the synapse had already fired and the electrical reaction had already formed the sentence.

They could kiss.

John found himself openly staring at Dave's hands. He only realized he was because Dave had looked up -- not at John, but at the two girls currently picking their way up the metal bleachers, bearing soda bottles and popcorn purchased from Field Day vendors for quarter prices. Jade reached the boys first, jumping from seat to seat, and Dave stood to greet her, snatching the soda from her hand before pulling her into a one-armed hug. Rose was next, shielding her eyes from the sun as she engaged Dave in teasing conversation.

John couldn't hear them. His ears had stopped picking up words. All he could hear was a muffled rush as he concentrated everything he had on filling his chest, cooling his body, get his limbs moving in some way that resembled human.

When he was up in only a few moments, catching Jade's enthusiastic hug and stealing her popcorn, doubt percolated where terror had been before. Nothing made sense. He couldn't have had some sort of -- shit, he still didn't know -- some sort of weird feeling about Dave and then got over it in such a short space of time, could he? But his face felt hot. But the sun was shining. But he felt so nervous. But he nearly tripped down the bleachers! That would make anyone nervous.

His mind postulated once again: was it wrong?

He insisted that it wasn't. He knew it quite firmly, even if he skittered away from the word itself, that it wasn't wrong.

But the problem remained.

It felt wrong.


End file.
